


Drinking Alone

by phoenixjean



Series: sweet distant things [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Modern AU, Romance, Warren Needs a Hug, idk it came to me, weird things with persepectives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixjean/pseuds/phoenixjean
Summary: time is passing but we're still drinking last week's alcohol





	

Loud electronic music thrums through the crowded house party and scenes from yesterday’s fight play on repeat in his mind. It takes a conscious effort for Warren to uncurl his hands from the fists they had somehow formed. There’s a pretty girl trying to make eye contact with him across the room, but all he sees is you. The hurt in your eyes and the way you had pulled away from him.

_I can’t think when you’re around. I need space. I need to think._

He doesn’t realise he’s reaching for his phone in his pocket till he’s staring down at your contact information on the screen. Against his better judgement, he starts writing a text.

 _I’m sorry_. No, not good enough. Try again. _Can we talk?_ Pathetic. Start over. _I miss you_.

He deletes the text and repockets his phone without sending anything. The girl across the room is starting to make her way over, and somehow, a smile is tugging at his lips. It feels like a lie. Warren raises his glass and knocks back the last of his drink. It’s his fourth. Or maybe his fifth. It’s all starting to run together and he can’t bring himself to really care. His phone vibrates and his hands clench into fists again. It’s you. He knows it’s you. He doesn’t check, though. Can’t make himself check. What if it isn’t you.

_I need space._

The walls start to feel like they’re caving in on him, like he’s suffocating; drowning in the crowd. The music feels very far away and Warren doesn’t want to be here, but he doesn’t want to go home. Doesn’t want to go back to his empty apartment. Being surrounded by people is better. There’s less thinking involved. He’s still lonely, but it’s a different type of lonely and it’s _better_. He has to believe that this is better. His phone buzzes, reminding him of the text he just received but he still doesn’t check it. It probably isn’t you. He surges to his feet, looking for another drink. Something to do with his hands, something to occupy his mind. Something to make him forget, if only for now.

He catches a glimpse of you across the crowded room and the fucking floor feels like it’s falling out from under him. The girl smiles and she isn’t you and Warren almost laughs because he’s pretty sure he’s losing his goddamn mind. Maybe it’s the alcohol burning through his veins. You’re everywhere he looks but you’re not here and it’s been barely twenty-four hours since he last saw you and he misses you so completely, so _painfully_ that he thinks his heart might stop. He’s going insane. That has to be it. He’s lost his fucking mind. Scenes from last night flash through his mind. You’re standing away from him, standing by the door. You’re leaving. Telling him not to call.

His phone is in his hand again, though he doesn’t remember when he reached for it. Your contact information is on the screen and the photo of you tucked against his side feels like a punch to the gut. His knuckles are white where he’s gripping his beer bottle too tightly. It’s not like you were his. Not properly, not yet. Not anymore. Three perfect months. That’s all he was allowed and he’s finding it almost funny that he didn’t know better; that he thought he could have something good and that it could last. You said don’t call, but he’s never been one for following instructions. He stares at your picture for a second longer before slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s never pretended to be brave. Yesterday’s fight is playing in his mind for the thousandth time that night.

“Warren, you don’t do relationships, so how am I any different? How am I- _fuck_ , I just-how am I supposed to trust that this is different? That this’ll work out?” You’re fighting back tears and your hands are shaking and he feels like he’s frozen in place, like he’s slowly falling apart from the inside and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “I can’t-don’t just tell me that it will. Please don’t just expect me to believe you when you say you won’t hurt me-I-it’s-fuck. I can’t-everything feels off in my head, I need to _think_. I can’t think when you’re around. I need space. I need to think. I can’t be here right now.” You’re opening the door, walking away from him. When you turn back, his heart heaves it’s self into his throat. “Please-it’s-this isn’t-don’t call me.”

Warren downs his drink and blindly reaches for another, shoving the memory away.  

The pretty girl from across the room earlier has made her way to him, and she’s even prettier up close but when he smiles at her, it feels like someone else is prompting his movements. He doesn’t feel like he’s here, doesn’t _want_ to feel like he’s here. He doesn’t want to feel anything right now, but the persistent ache in his chest is radiating through him, making him painfully, deeply aware of every second ticking by. The girl leans in close, grabs his hand, pulls him out to dance and he doesn’t have the strength to resist, so he goes with her. The music is loud and demanding and it directs his movements, muscle memory taking over as he moves with the girl. She’s pressing close, an arm draped around his neck and her smile has a suggestive edge to it. Warren feels like an outside observer looking in because it doesn’t feel like he has any control over his actions. He doesn’t want her, doesn’t want to be dancing with her, but he can’t make himself pull away. Her lips graze over the shell of his ear as she presses closer still, and suddenly he’s called back to another house party, weeks ago, similar to this one and yet infinitely different.

His arms are around your waist and he can feel your breath ghosting over his skin and you’re looking at him like there’s no one else in the world who matters and the sudden rush of sheer, unadulterated _want_ that courses through him is dizzying. Your body is warm against his and though the room is crowded, his attention is entirely on you and when you smile at him, he feels like his heart is going to pound out of his chest. You’ve always been too good for him.

His entire body tenses up at the memory, like there’s an electric current searing through him, yanking him from his inertia. This isn’t where he wants to be. His apartment flashes in his mind again. The fight wasn’t even really a fight. It wasn’t big or loud or violent but it left him utterly shattered, and he hadn’t realised just how invested he was in you being there till you walked out.

_I can’t think when you’re around._

He can’t breathe. The crowd is pressing in on him and he can’t fucking breathe.

The song is over and he pulls away, making some feeble excuse and all but stumbling for the door. He needs air. The house is full of people and the heat is rising and the walls are closing in and he feels like he’s suffocating so he stumbles out, away from the house, towards the street. Pushing clumsily through the gate, Warren’s feet hit the sidewalk and he feels like his lungs work again. He only gets a second’s reprieve though, because suddenly he registers that you’re standing there. You’re only a few feet away from him and you look like you’ve been crying and this has to be some kind of fucking hallucination because there’s _no way_ you’re here.

_Don’t call me._

The silence feels like it weighs a goddamn ton, like it’s crushing him where he stands. Your hands are shaking and you take a deep, steadying breath.

“Don’t-don’t say anything, just-I’m sorry. I’m sorry about-and the-I left. I shouldn’t have. I’m just-fuck, I’m so scared. I want you; I want to be _with_ you, but god Warren, I’m so scared. This scares me.” You gesture helplessly at the space between the two of you and you look so small somehow, so vulnerable that it’s taking all of his limited self-control not to just reach for you. Not to pull you in close and hold you and tell you that it’s all okay. His body is screaming to just step towards you but he bites down on the impulse, instead standing frozen in place.

“I’m scared too,” Warren says softly, hesitantly. The look of tentative hope that crosses your face is enough to make him keep going. “I don’t-it’s-my shitty track record with relationships is my fault, but I want to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.” His hands are shaking now and he shoves them into his pockets, hoping you won’t notice. This kind of painful honesty is dizzying, but he’s made it this far so he might as well keep going. He owes you that much. “But the idea of hurting you-it scares the shit out of me. This is fucking terrifying but I want to make it work. I want us to work.” His breathing is unsteady and you’re standing as still as a goddamn statue and he’s sure, he _knows_ he’s done something wrong. Said too much too soon. Scared you off. He tries to think of something to say, some way to defuse the situation, to persuade you that he isn’t a fucking catastrophe of a person, that-

You fling yourself at him, your arms going around his neck as you collide with him, knocking him back a step as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in close, burying his face against the crook of your neck, breathing you in. You’re here. You want him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against his skin as you cling to him. Warren doesn’t know how to say that you don’t need to apologise, that everything you said to him last night was justified, that it’s a fucking miracle that you’re here, that you want him, so he doesn’t say anything. He just gently tilts your head up towards his and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, and the little sigh you let out as he kisses you is like a rush of pure exhilaration because you feel like every good thing there is in the world and somehow, for some reason, you want _him_. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to last week's alcohol by kerrigan and lowdermilk and it was just? so painfully warren? idk


End file.
